They chatted for a while and eventually Liam yawned.
‘Shall I just stretch out on the couch, Liam?’ Hugo asked. ‘I know you have a full house now with the girls, as well.’
‘Well, Mam cleared the bed in the girls’ room for me. It’s a double if you don’t mind sharing. There are boxes and things up there but at least we’ll get some sleep.’
Hugo looked uncomfortable. Knowing, even accepting a homosexual friend was one thing, sharing a bed with one was quite another. He hated the idea of Liam feeling awkward.
‘But you better not snore, or I’ll give you the treatment Con used to give me if I disturbed his sleep, right? A hobnailed boot into the head!’
Hugo smiled but considered making up a reason he had to go back to the hotel. Liam was being so kind but surely the idea of sharing a bed with Hugo, now that he knew what he was, was abhorrent. Before he could object, Liam went upstairs and Hugo had to follow.
In the bedroom, boxes and cartons were stacked everywhere. Like every house where the children were grown up and gone, all of the things that they accumulated that were too important to throw out but not important enough to take with them were gathering dust in their mother’s home. He smiled at the Elvis posters on the walls and the remains of makeup in a drawer. It seemed like a million years ago when he, Kate and Con and the twins all lived here, when he would creep downstairs at night to see Mammy and Daddy chatting quietly by the range, and everything seemed so perfect.
Hugo cleared his throat. ‘I…you don’t have to do this…I’ll sleep on the floor, and you can…’
Liam looked at him.
‘Hugo, if it doesn’t bother you, it doesn’t bother me, all right? I’d say we’ve had more than enough to deal with for one day so let’s just try to get some sleep, shall we? As you said, we’re as close as brothers, closer actually, so I don’t think you’re going to jump me in the middle of the night or whatever...’ Liam took off his trousers and jumper and slept in his shirt and underwear.
Mammy had placed hot jars in the bed earlier so it was lovely and warm and the weight of the woollen blankets that smelled of Daz washing powder transported him back to a time when life was simple. Hugo climbed in beside him and lay on his back.
‘This is the first time I’ve shared a bed with a man,’ he said into the dark. ‘Probably the last too, but I’m glad it was you, Liam.’
‘It won’t be the last. At least I hope it won’t be for you, I mean. For God’s sake, Hugo, it was He who made you, He’s the one that made you what you are. I know what people say, but how can something that’s part of you, part of who you are, be so wrong? It’s not like you chose it, you just are the way you are. You don’t want to hurt anyone, you’re a good person. Love is love. I think you should find it and keep it and remember God made you, and He also made men like you, so you’re not alone.’
‘But isn’t it against everything you believe or are taught by the church.’ Hugo was amazed.
‘I won’t lie to you, Hugo. I’ve wrestled with it, but...I don’t know, this isn’t probably a very theological way of looking at things, but Jesus was all about love. That was his main message. For us to love each other. And I love you and I love Patrick and no matter what happens, or how ye live, that won’t ever change. Just go, Hugo, go to Paris, visit your uncle, whatever it takes. Even if it’s just now and again, for a visit, nobody needs to know. You only get one life, you know? Losing my father, yours, Patrick’s situation, should teach us that.’
‘Thanks, Liam. I love you, too.’
Hugo lay with his hands behind his head most of the night, wide awake despite being shattered with exhaustion. Liam was sleeping peacefully beside him. Hugo realised he was right. What was he going to do, sit in Greyrock forever, trying to deny to himself and everyone else what he was? He would do it. As soon as all this business with Patrick was resolved, he’d get in touch with his uncle. His father always said he’d be happy to hear from him. He might visit him, maybe even have an experience. Even if he didn’t, he couldn’t imagine the relief of living just for a while as he was, rather than how the world expected him to be.
Chapter 22
Liam and Hugo stood on the steps of the courthouse the next day, waiting for it to open. D’Alton was on his way from France, by aeroplane. He was due to land in Cork Airport within the hour.
At the other end of the building, Liam noticed a woman standing alone. Every time he glanced in her direction, she caught his eye. She was dressed in a dark wool coat and hat, her blond hair was clipped neatly back and she looked like a respectable kind of girl, uncomfortable in her surroundings. There were lots of people milling about, stamping their feet and stuffing their frozen hands in their armpits for warmth.
‘Do you recognise her?’ he asked Hugo, who was sucking on a cigarette as if it were his last breath.
‘Who?’ he exhaled.
‘That girl there at the other side with the navy coat, she looks familiar,’ Liam nodded in her direction.
‘No, I don’t think so, why? Should I?’
‘No, it’s just she keeps looking over at us…’ Liam began.
Hugo smiled. ‘Well, she’s barking up the wrong tree if she’s set her cap at either of us.’
Before Liam had time to reply, she walked towards them.
‘I’m sorry,’ she began. ‘I just wondered, aren’t you Patrick Lynch’s friends?’
It was freezing cold and sleet was breaking through the heavy dark clouds. Liam noticed her hands were gloveless and almost blue with the cold. She gripped her handbag tightly.
‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘Do you know Patrick?’
‘I’m Helen Dunne, I work in O’Neills with Patrick, and we’re friends. I’ve been calling to his house recently, just to see how he and his sisters were getting along, but a neighbour told me he’s been arrested, and… Well, I just wondered how he is.’
Liam and Hugo remembered Mrs Tobin talking about a girl who worked with Patrick. He and Hugo saw her at Mrs Lynch’s funeral, but they didn’t have a chance to speak to her because she was looking after Connie and Anna. By all accounts, she was a great help and support. Liam’s mam said that she and Father Aquinas had been hoping a romance might blossom out of it once Patrick recovered a bit from the shock of his mother’s murder.
‘Of course, I remember you, Helen. We didn’t get a chance to be introduced at the funeral, but my mother said you are a wonderful help with the girls, they’re mad about you. Why don’t we go to that little café across the street? It’s freezing out here. We can sit in the window and watch for the court opening. It probably won’t be for twenty minutes and by then, we could be dead from hypothermia,’ Liam suggested.
‘Well, I don’t want to intrude…’ she began.
‘Nonsense,’ said Hugo. ‘I’m Hugo FitzHenry, and this is Liam Tobin. Now, we’ll be perished if we have to stand out here for another second, so let’s have a cup of tea and we can fill you in.’
They chatted over tea, and the men warmed to Helen. She clearly had strong feelings for Patrick, but they doubted that he knew that. She definitely wasn’t his usual type, no flashy clothes or makeup, but she seemed a really nice person.
‘The vultures are circling,’ said Hugo, pointing to the steps of the large limestone courthouse. People were trying to get into the building through the crowds, who’d appeared in a steady stream in the past half hour. Murders were rare, so there was a ghoulish interest in this one and once it became known that Geoffrey d’Alton was taking the case, public interest intensified. The story made all the national newspapers and even some in England. Hugo didn’t know how that information had become public but somehow it had.
So often they had passed the iconic Cork Court House building over the years never imagining for a moment that it would ever feature so heavily in the story of their lives. People surged forward in increasingly large numbers as the doors opened, some carrying flasks and wrapped-up sandwiches. The mac
abre nature of someone who attended murder trials as a hobby was something Liam found deeply distasteful. Hugo was more circumspect.
‘It’s big news, a murder, so people are bound to be curious. I’d say everyone supports Patrick though since the whole city is buzzing with the story. Now, shall we go over and meet this Mr d’Alton and see if he is a mere mortal or really the magician he’s lauded to be?’
‘Well, thanks for the tea…’ Helen began.
‘Come with us,’ Hugo offered. ‘I’m sure it would cheer him up to see friendly faces in the audience or gallery or whatever it’s called.’
She smiled and her face was transformed into a picture of beauty. She was a lovely girl, and Liam wished that for her sake and for Patrick’s things could progress between them. Before anything like that could even be considered, however, they had the gargantuan task of getting him off a lifelong prison sentence for murdering his own father in cold blood. It seemed an impossible task, but to Liam it was black and white. Sure, the sixth commandment said Thou shalt not kill. However, he felt that maybe he should have more of a moral dilemma on his hands, but he didn’t. It would have been so much better if Patrick had gone to the guards with his suspicions about Joe’s whereabouts, and of course, he should not have killed him. But should Patrick, a kind, loving man have to spend his life behind bars because he rid the world of a thoroughly evil man? The church says there is hope for everyone to be redeemed and that could even be stretched to include Joe Lynch, but the past is the best indicator of the future, and Liam seriously doubted Lynch’s capacity for redemption. Should Connie and Anna be denied the loving care and protection of their brother for years and years because of this? He was certain they shouldn’t. They’d suffered enough, Mrs Lynch suffered enough, and Patrick suffered enough. It was time for it to end. Let the dead rest in peace and let the living live. That’s what he’d say if he could take the stand, but unfortunately, nobody cared what he thought.
The press with their big cameras ran out of a big van and spotted them as they crossed the road.
‘Lord Drummond, why are you involved in this murder trial?’
‘Lord Drummond, does your friend Patrick Lynch intend on pleading guilty?’
‘Lord Drummond, were you there on the night on the attack?’
‘Lord Drummond, why did Lynch flee to your estate, Greyrock, after the event?’
Hugo set his face in a stern line and battled his way through, studiously ignoring them as he, Liam, and Helen made their way into the building. It was the most dreadful feeling of being under siege, and Liam wondered how famous people did this every day of their lives. Cameras clicked and the questions kept coming as well as entreaties for a photo.
‘He’s here!’ someone shouted.
Like a flock of starlings, the rabble moved down the steps once more.
Suddenly, there was a flurry of activity as a very tall and incredibly handsome man was chauffeured to the courthouse in a black Mercedes. Obviously, the famous Geoffrey d’Alton. More reporters had appeared out of nowhere, there was even a television camera, and further crowds were gathering.
‘How did they know he was involved with this case? Or that the hearing was today?’ Liam asked, perplexed.
‘I’ve no idea, I certainly didn’t tell anyone,’ Hugo replied, equally curious.
Liam watched as d’Alton emerged from the back seat and stood up straight. He was tall and slender and was probably in his early forties though he could have been older. He was well-maintained as his mother would have said. He wore a wig and a gown and his longish silver hair shone as it curled over his collar. His perfectly arched eyebrows rose in disdain in response to the haranguing tones of the reporters as if he deemed them unworthy of a response. His skin was tanned golden brown and intelligent sapphire-blue eyes took in the scene at a glance. He looked out of place on a cold drab winter morning in Cork, like a peacock in a flock of pigeons, Liam thought. He swept up the slush covered steps, his gown billowing out behind him, issuing instructions to a suited man beside him as he went.
Mr O’Kelly came to Hugo’s side as they observed this most theatrical of entrances.
‘That’s Archbald Fenton with him, his private secretary,’ O’Kelly told them in a murmur.
The idea that someone like d’Alton would defend the son of a drunk from a small terraced house in Cork had captured the public’s imagination. The fact that a member of the gentry was also involved added even more spice. Patrick was clearly not d’Alton’s typical client but the Earl of Drummond was.
Brian O’Kelly drew them into the foyer of the courthouse, past the security desk, followed by several members of the public and, eventually, by d’Alton and his secretary, who recognised Mr O’Kelly. The pair approached, ignoring Liam and Helen, and once they were gathered, Fenton spoke in reverential tones to the barrister.
‘Mr d’Alton, may I introduce Lord Drummond.’
Liam smiled. Obviously, they were lesser beings and were undeserving of an introduction.
‘I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, your Lordship,’ d’Alton said with a bow of his head. His accent sounded like the men you’d hear on BBC. Patrick would have said he sounded like he’d a boiled spud in his mouth.
‘Good morning, Mr d’Alton, and thank you for coming. I appreciate it. These are my friends, Liam Tobin, Helen Dunne, and of course, you know my solicitor, Mr O’Kelly.’
Liam was always slightly surprised when Hugo went into what Patrick called ‘Lord Mode’. His accent changed slightly, and he seemed more aloof and confident.
‘My secretary does, I believe,’ d’Alton cast a dismissive eye over Liam and Helen, giving them an almost imperceptible nod. Then he turned his full attention to Hugo, explaining what would happen next. He ignored the rest of them, but Liam couldn’t care less how senior counsel d’Alton felt about him as long as he got the best deal possible for Patrick.
After a few moments, the court clerk approached d’Alton’s secretary and whispered something to him, which he in turn relayed to d’Alton. Several young legal people were gathered, waiting for the great man to speak. He was a celebrity in the legal world and held their rapt attention.
‘The case is being called,’ he announced. Hugo rolled his eyes at Liam behind the silk-clad back, and the little group followed behind the majestic sweep of black that bellowed out in the wake of Geoffrey d’Alton Senior Counsel.
They settled themselves as best they could into the narrow benches of the public gallery and looked down on the court. Helen sat between Hugo and Liam. Detective Inspector McMullan was in the body of the court along with several other Gardaí, but he did glance in their direction and gave them a brief smile.
Patrick stood in the dock with his back to them, a guard standing behind him. It was hard to tell how he was from his body language as he couldn’t turn around. Hugo had arranged to have a suit and shirt and tie sent into the prison. It was important he made a good impression.
‘All rise, the court is now in session, Judge Eamonn O’Duibhir presiding,’ the clerk announced aloud.
The judge was also in a wig and gown and looked around two hundred years old. He banged his gavel for order and there was lots of activity of solicitors, barristers, Gardaí, and clerks as they gathered papers and took their positions. Eventually, the judge spoke, his strong voice belied his frail appearance.
‘Patrick Joseph Lynch, you are accused of the murder of Joseph Thomas Lynch on the eighteenth day of December 1977 at a location known as Tinker’s Cross, Mallow Road, Cork. How do you plead?’
Patrick’s voice was clear. ‘Not guilty.’
The judge nodded slowly.
Mr O’Kelly had explained that the state was pressing for a murder charge because they felt they could prove it was premeditated and by Patrick pleading not guilty, on d’Alton’s instructions, the case would now go to trial. Patrick was going to say he did it, but that there were extenuating circumstances, and d’Alton was
going to argue that what happened was, in fact, involuntary manslaughter. The hope was that if d’Alton managed to present Patrick as the victim of this dreadful man, not the other way round, and the prosecution then saw that he had swayed the jury, they would offer to accept the lesser charge of manslaughter. The good news was that with d’Alton on their side, there was a possibility of getting off on the murder charge. The bad news was that Patrick was still going to be sentenced because he did it.
The judge spoke in almost bored tones as this was just another day’s work, not somebody’s life in his hands.
‘I am sending this case forward to the circuit court to be heard. I understand there is an application for bail?’
The prosecution stood up. ‘We would seek to have bail denied, your honour. The defendant may be of good character, but we determine that he is likely to abscond, given his lack of ties here and the seriousness of the offence.’ The young barrister seemed nervous and sat as quickly as he could.
‘I see. I will need to hear from the arresting officer,’ the judge ordered. More shuffling and muttering below the bench and then D.I. Mc Mullan took the stand and was sworn in.
‘Has this man come to your attention previously?’ the judge asked.
‘The defendant is previously of impeccable character and has never been in any kind of trouble with the Gardaí before.’ The prosecution looked annoyed. McMullan was supposed to be on their side.
‘Hmmm…I see. What about you, Mr d’Alton? I presume you are making an application for bail.’
There were some barely audible communications between the bench and the detective and some transferring of papers when d’Alton addressed the court. Suddenly, all the noise stopped and you could only hear the sonorous tones of the barrister.
D’Alton stood and spoke. ‘Yes, milord. My client is not a flight risk and is ordinarily of impeccable character. The Earl of Drummond, of Greyrock, Co Waterford is willing to stand surety for him.’ You could cut his accent with a knife.
Jean Grainger Box Set: So Much Owed, Shadow of a Century, Under Heaven's Shining Stars Page 99
